Across The Universe
by The Galaxy of Nekozawa Katsuki
Summary: As children, Jim and Spock were penpals. Now, as adults and after so much, can they recapture what they once had? Eventual K/S.
1. Chapter 1: Two Such Lonely Souls

_***EDITED***_

_**Um, don't freak out guys, but I'm scraping the 2nd Arc. My OC Lucy turned out to be too awesome to just shove her into the middle of this story where she'd be forgotten. So! Slight change but don't worry. Also, second chapter's up! ('Course, this leaves more time for fluffy K/S scenes so it's a win-win.)**_

Hello. Katsuki here. So, K/S. The granddaddy of slash. I had to contribute to this epic love story some time, so why not now? Anyways, for anyone who by freaky coincidence has read "_Prisoners_", this is my new home. Sort of. My old home is for reading, this one's for writing. Yeah, I'm nuts, I know.

Anyways, I'm an Australian hailing from the _BLEACH_ fandom, so please excuse anything, uh, especially weird. Please review if you have the time, but at least fav and/or follow if you liked it but actually have a life to get back to? Thanks!

***^.^***

**Chapter One: Two Such Lonely Souls**

***^.^***

James T. Kirk was an unusually quiet child, or so his first grade teacher, Mrs Green thought. Unlike the other six-year-olds, he never spoke out of turn or punched someone for taking his things. And they did, quite often in fact, take little Jimmy's things. Not that he had many things to take.

Mrs Green had been teaching the young Kirk for just over half a year now, and she still had yet to figure out what made the little guy tick. Once, a girl even smaller than the tiny boy – and my, was he tiny – had taken his metal ruler and smacked him in the face with it when he, rather politely, asked for it back. Another time, the other boys in class had taken his lunch – all of it, not that there was ever much of it either – and Mrs Green had watched the underweight, scrawny little James Kirk faint ten minutes into their afternoon art lesson. These, sadly, weren't rare occurrences. Bad things seemed to happen to Jim every other day.

And never once did he complain about it. Mrs Green had tried, multiple times, to get James to talk about his troubles but never to any success, as he'd always shake his head, his scruffy blond hair flying about, and smile like he had no troubles.

It was frustrating, to be honest. And Mrs Green was frustrated. But not with Jimmy, never with him. She was frustrated with herself for not being able to do anything about it – whatever _it_ was.

So when her fellow teacher and husband had told her about the pen pal program with Vulcan his fourth grade class was undertaking, she had seen a golden opportunity for her to finally do something. If Jim wouldn't talk to her, someone he had to see on an almost daily basis, perhaps he'd be better off pouring his worries into printed words someone thousands of light-years away would read.

If it ever even occurred to her that perhaps a Vulcan wouldn't be equipped to deal with a human child's emotionalism, she didn't spend much time thinking about it.

The very next school day, a Monday – her favourite day – she put a copy of the elaborately worded proposal letter on James's desk. He blinked in surprise at the PADD for a moment before turning his big, blue, very confused eyes on Mrs Green.

"Ms," Jim said in his quiet, sweet voice. "What's this?"

"This," Mrs Green said proudly, "is a letter from Vulcan, explaining about the pen pal program they're starting this year to encourage healthy relations with the Humans."

Jim ran a tentative finger along the edge of the PADD before picking it up slowly. He read it faster than even Mrs Green had, the long-winded and often complicated sentences making sense to him in a way his teacher never understood. Six-years-old and reading like a Professor of literature. Another James Kirk puzzle she'd yet to figure out.

She was, however, quite adept at reading emotions on anyone, and was delighted at the excited look in Jim's eyes when he finally looked back up at her. He'd read it twice, she noted, like he couldn't believe it the first time.

"Are the other kids doing this?" he asked, curiosity evident in every line of his being.

Mrs Green nodded happily. "Only the fourth graders."

Jim frowned a little at that. "Then why…?" he trailed off, looking down at the PADD again. His eyes flickered back up to Mrs Green's and the look there nearly knocked her off her feet. Little children weren't meant to look so confused, not in that sad sort of way at least. It was as though Jim didn't understand why she was giving this to him, and him alone. And if she had any doubts about her observational skills they were quickly alleviated as he asked, "Why me?"

Mrs Green ruffled his hair affectionately, making the mess even messier if that were even possible. "Because I thought you'd like it, silly," she smiled at him and got a tentative but blindingly happy smile in return.

"Thank you, Mrs Green," Jim mumbled, sounding the happiest she'd ever heard. It saddened her to think that such a small thing could bring this boy more happiness than she'd seen on him before, because despite the fact that he was almost always smiling, it had never seemed real to her.

The way he was smiling now, as he reread the words glowing on the PADD screen, seemed very real indeed.

***^.^***

Spock was unusually loud for a Vulcan child, or so Amanda was told. It was true that he did ask an exceptional amount of questions but Amanda had never minded answering them to the best of her abilities. She wasn't a teacher for no reason, after all.

Amanda loved her son, truly. He was the most precious thing in the universe to her, and seeing him suffer torment at the hands of the other Vulcan children hurt her dearly. She wanted the best for her child – doesn't every mother? – and not having any friends wasn't what she had in mind.

Now, being Amanda Grayson, she wasn't about to sit back and let her son be lonely. No way. So she utilised her impressive mind and came up with an idea so logical not even her dear Sarek could refuse.

Pen pals.

It was perfect.

She told Sarek (in great detail) her plan, and he – in a surprisingly short amount of time – had it approved. Now she was waiting patiently for the first electronic letter to arrive. The human children would send the first letters because otherwise the Vulcan children would alienate themselves pretty effectively in the first sentence.

When Spock came home one afternoon clutching a PADD to his chest with the largest not-smile she'd seen in two years on his face, Amanda had pulled him into a gentle hug and whispered into his ear, "Have fun, Spock."

He'd pulled back and put on a disapproving frown. "Vulcans do not 'have fun', Mother," he reminded her primly, but his eyes were sparkling.

Amanda managed to look appropriately berated and let her son go upstairs to his bedroom.

She smiled at his retreating back, before turning back to her work in the kitchen. Just in case, she'd decided to make Plomeek soup. But hopefully it would be eaten in celebration rather than for comfort.

Upstairs, Spock entered his room and put his bag by the door. He sat at his desk and placed the PADD on the table in front of him with a calm he didn't feel.

A pen pal. A friend.

It was illogical to feel as excited as he did over this simple school assignment. It was even less logical to be experiencing the momentary bouts of anxiety he had been enduring since being given the PADD.

It contained the first letter from his Human pen pal. The program required they exchange at least four letters each but Spock found himself wishing they could continue, even after the four letter minimum was passed. He didn't have many (read: any) friends on Vulcan. Even his father was hard to talk to. The only person Spock felt able to be himself around was his mother, a Human. By that reasoning another Human should accept him as well.

_Should_ being the key word here.

Taking a deep meditative breath, Spock flicked the PADD on. The sudden burst of light on the screen he'd been staring at unblinkingly blinded him momentarily but then the glare faded and the words came into view.

_Hello,_

_My name's James Tiberius Kirk. I hope you don't mind but I am only six. I know all your friends will be talking to other nine-year-olds but I hope you will still like writing to me. I know I liked writing to you and I don't even know you yet._

_I live in Riverside, Iowa, in the United States of America. It's pretty nice here. Very quiet. We have a shipyard in our town, dedicated to George Kirk. He's my father. You might have heard of him. (If not, you could. He's pretty easy to find, what with being a Starfleet hero and all. Try _USS Kelvin_, you'll find him.)_

_Have you ever been to Earth? I've never been to another planet. Well, I was born off-planet. In a shuttlecraft in outer-space actually, but that's not important._

_I should explain something before I go any further. My first grade teacher, Mrs Green, is the whole reason why I get to write you. She told me she thought I'd like writing to you, and she was right. But then, she's always right._

_Mrs Green is half Orion, on her mother's side. Have you ever met an Orion? They have green skin, you know, and the females emit really powerful pheromones. Mrs Green doesn't though. She's not really sure why. Everything else about her is Orion so what happened to the pheromones? Maybe Orion women have to learn how to emit them, like a martial arts skill. That would explain why Mrs Green doesn't have them. Her mother died when she was very young._

_What's it like on Vulcan anyway? Is it as hot as they say? My mom went to Vulcan once. She said she couldn't go outside unless it was dark. Of course, she said this to Sam (my older brother), not me, so I might have heard wrong._

_I don't know much about Vulcans. I read all the information available on you guys but there really isn't all that much of it. How come you're still so secretive with us? We told you everything. …Well, not everything. I'll bet good money you don't know my IQ._

_Do you play chess? I do. I play with Sam. I used to win all the time but then Sam told me to stop being so competitive and I started not paying quite as much attention so I'd lose and Sam would keep playing with me. I still like playing chess and I don't get to do it as much as I'd like to._

_Mrs Green said not to write anything over five-hundred words long for my first letter so I'll stop now._

_Thank you for being my pen-pal,_

_Sincerely,_

_James T. Kirk._

Spock blinked quietly at the finishing signature, letting the words run over in his head. He felt a rush of emotions, that he did his best to supress. Even so, some spilled onto his features.

Indignation, resignation; that they'd give him, the pathetic hybrid, a Human child in the first Earth grade.

Relief, happiness; that James Kirk seemed so nice (and very scatterbrained, inquisitive, friendly, and just plain _odd_).

Eventually Spock's emotions stopped swinging so violently and he settled on the nicer side of things. James Kirk was, among many things, someone he could try to talk to. He didn't sound like the type of person to bully or insult him. If anything, he sounded… nice.

Spock ran the pad of his thumb across the PADD screen above James Kirk's signature.

With his other hand he picked up his stylus and began to write his response.

***^.^***

"-and you'll never be worth anything, you _lout_. Get back downstairs you little _prick_! Back down here _right now!_" Jim's slammed his bedroom door shut and locked the deadbolt. He ducked away from the door as a fist landed hard upon it.

"Jim! You ungrateful bastard! Get your _ass_ out here right _now_!" Frank Kirk, the late George Kirk's brother and Jim's stepfather, yelled at the door. He hit it again, just for good measure. "_Fine_! Stay in there! Stay in there and _rot_, you asswipe! Don't even _think_ about coming out of there!" He kicked the door, cursed furiously, and stomped away.

Jim sank onto his bed, and pulled his legs up to his chest. He wiped furiously at the tears streaming down his cheeks, mingling with the blood from his split lip. How was he to know that Frank would already be in an alcohol-induced rage when he came home? How was Jim to know that Frank would swipe the PADD from his shocked hands? Worst of all, how was Jim going to get his pen-pal's letter back now? For all he knew, Frank would smash it between now and the time he passed out.

Now all Jim had to look forward to was a very long and hungry night.

***^.^***

The loud, pig like snores of his uncle-turned-stepfather echoing in his ears, James Kirk did something he'd never dared to before.

He snuck downstairs. In the dead of night, after Frank had passed out, Jim crept down the wooden staircase, avoiding the creaky step. He knew what he was coming for. And even though his stomach had been issuing complaints in increasing frequency and volume for the past three hours, it wasn't food he was after.

No, Jim was after something with much more sustenance than mere food. He was after the PADD, and his pen-pal's letter.

Jim reached the bottom of the stairs (they never seem so long in the daylight) and quietly put one sock-padded foot after the other as he edged over to his uncle. Frank was lying across his favourite faded green couch, empty beer bottle still in hand.

The PADD was on the coffee table in front of Frank. Only a few centimetres from his hand.

Jim swallowed against the lump in his throat. This wasn't going to be easy, but Jim wouldn't give up.

He tiptoed over to the table, so close to Frank he could see his nostrils flaring in his sleep. Jim took a deep breath and held it, going the last few steps to the table. He picked up the PADD with agonising slowness, never once taking his eyes off Frank. Once the precious piece of machinery was safe in his hands, Jim backed away.

He didn't breathe again until he was back in his room, the door locked behind him.

***^.^***

_James Tiberius Kirk,_

_My name is Spock. As a Human you could not pronounce my family name. I do not mind that you are of only six Earth years of age. I am only nine Vulcan years of age. The difference is insignificant._

_I live in the Vulcan city of ShiKahr. My father is Sarek. He is Ambassador for Vulcan to Earth. This is why we live in ShiKahr; the United Earth Embassy is located there. My mother is Amanda and she was a teacher on Earth before she married my father. Her last name was Grayson. She lived in Toronto, Canada. I understand this to not be very far away from your hometown._

_I have never been to Earth, despite my mixed heritage. I have also never left the planet of my birth._

_I have indeed heard of your father, George Kirk. The incident with the _USS Kelvin_ is regrettable, however I am interested. You mentioned you were born in space, in a shuttlecraft whilst it was in flight. Am I to assume this is connected to the _USS Kelvin_ in some manner? It would not be logical for you to have mentioned it otherwise, therefore I believe it is._

_I too have had the experience of knowing a woman who is always right. My mother has never once been wrong in her assessment of things. It is rather disturbing on occasions._

_I have met three Orions in the course of my life. The first was Sooris the Courageous. He spoke with my father on matters of diplomacy one night when I was five. The second was a woman named Peile and the third her young daughter Gaila. They were stopping off at Vulcan on their way to Earth. They spoke to my mother for some time, exchanging stories of Gaila and myself._

_I did not think to ask any of them about Orion pheromones as it would have been impolite of me to do so. However, I believe your theory of being taught by an elder Orion woman to activate the glands in question is a logical explanation for your teacher's lack of ability in this area._

_It is indeed very hot on Vulcan, especially during the middle of the day when the sun is high in the sky. The temperatures reach points that no Human could safely endure._

_It is true we Vulcans have chosen not to reveal our more private matters to the general public. I assure you, we have our reasons. I, while not entirely Vulcan, am privileged to know of the Vulcan way. For the most part, it is a very logical and reasonable way to live. There are, however, certain things Vulcans must push past that no other species as great as ours must. I cannot speak of them, but perhaps if we continue our correspondence, in the years to come I may be able to tell you._

_I would not begin to guess at your IQ score as it is an out-dated and inaccurate system and I have but one small piece of information to go off of. I could not speculate at this time, but if I come to a reasonable conclusion I will inform you of my answer._

_I have never played chess. I researched the game after reading your letter and have found the idea most interesting. I have a suggestion that we might continue over our letters. We could play a game of chess, step by step, over our correspondence. I would find the experience most enlightening and would be grateful if you would consider the idea._

_As I have gone over the five-hundred word limit your teacher set you, I will let this letter draw to its conclusion._

_I thank you for writing to me, James Kirk._

_Spock._

The PADD fell onto Jim's pillow with a dull thump. The dim light from the screen continued to light the room, throwing Jim's face into shadow.

If anyone could have seen his face in that instant their heart might have broken. His smile was just that brilliant, just that soft and warm.

Jim twisted sharply and lay down on his back. He smiled up at his ceiling, silently thanking God or whoever really, but mostly Spock.

_Friend_. The word seemed to float on the air in front of Jim, just out of reach. He could see it, almost taste it; the potential was there. He'd never said half the things he did in his letter to a living soul before but now he had. In an electronic letter. To a Vulcan. _Well, half-Vulcan_, Jim's mind supplied cheerily.

_Spock_. Such a nice name. It was alien but in a good way. No silly apostrophes or anything. It suited him, Jim thought fondly. _Spock_ certainly suited the kid who'd written him such a formal but so heartfelt a letter. Only Spock, Jim decided, could do that. Could make his life so bright with just a few hundred words. Things didn't seem so terrible at the moment, and Jim couldn't remember ever being happier.

It was worth the risk. Of course it was. Now he just had to keep it up. He had to not screw up and make Frank's words a self-fulfilling prophecy. Jim didn't believe that. He would be Spock's friend, even if it killed him. But hopefully it wouldn't. 'Cause that would kind of defeat the purpose.

Jim really wished Spock had written more. It felt like he'd wanted to, but had stopped out of courtesy or trepidation or something. But Jim had stopped for the same reasons, afraid he was rambling and making a fool out of himself.

It seemed they were both being silly. Jim didn't really care about that though. It was just so unbelievably great to have someone to be silly with. One letter, and maybe Jim was just imagining it, but in that one, single letter Jim felt he'd finally found a friend.

A friend named Spock. A Vulcan. _Huh, didn't see that one coming_, Jim mused.

What he kept coming back to, what his thoughts continued to centralise on, was _Spock_. Jim could imagine him, a young boy, dark hair and eyes like all Vulcans, and pale, green-tinted skin. He would wear plain grey and black clothes and be smiling as he read Jim's letter and wrote back. Jim imagined Spock thinking of what he wanted to tell Jim then censoring it as it was swept gracefully onto the page.

He imagined Spock lying back in his own bed now, staring up at his own ceiling. He imagined Spock imagining Jim imagining Spock and smiled.

Jim turned onto his side, tucking the still-glowing PADD into his chest. He curled up around it, closing his eyes to the warmth he felt coming from his one friend. Even though that friend was so far away, Jim felt Spock pull him into the most loving embrace he'd ever felt.

"Thank you, Spock," Jim whispered into the darkness. "Goodnight."

***^.^***

On Vulcan, lying on his back in bed, Spock's eyes finally slid shut. He fell asleep to one final thought; of a small Human boy curled up safe and warm in his bed.

_Goodnight, James._

***^.^***

_**Thank you for reading!**_


	2. Chapter 2: Endless Rain

Hey, guys. I don't know if any of you know this but you are all made of awesome. I have received more favs, alerts and reviews from this than I ever dared dream of. So, thank you. Thank you, everyone who has read this story. Big thanks to: _silver-zenko-kitsune, MoonstarWorld, jenamy, Gabesgurl, KatherineLeFay, Mischa21, Kim_, and _bubblestar888_ for reviewing.

So, I edited Chapter One and for everyone who didn't read the edit, there is now no 2nd Arc but there will be more 1st and 3rd to make up for it. I just didn't want my OC Lucy to be one of those 'who the hell is this girl? She's keeping them apart – let's kill her!' girls. (They're everywhere. Ever tried reading published Trek novels? It's torture.)

Anyway, this one's kinda sad I think, but let's face it – things have to get worse before they get better. Hurt before comfort, you know.

***^.^***

**Chapter Two: Endless Rain**

***^.^***

Mrs Green positively beamed when Jim walked into the classroom. She motioned for him to come over to her desk, and he quickly shuffled over.

"So, how'd it go?" she pressed immediately.

Jim blinked at her innocently. "How did what go, Ms?"

Even though she knew full well that he knew what she meant, Mrs Green was much too excited to stop herself from falling into Jim's verbal trap.

"You know," she leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper, "with the pen-pal program. What was their letter like?"

Jim smiled at his teacher warmly. Mrs Green stared down at her star pupil in mild surprise, wondering what had happened to make James smile this way. Something must have gone incredibly right.

_And good for him_, she thought firmly.

Jim swung his tattered backpack around and pulled out the PADD in question. He held it out to Mrs Green, his smile not wavering for a moment.

Mrs Green took the PADD with trembling hands. "Jim?" She could barely manage a coherent thought let alone a sentence. She had simply never seen James Kirk so… so _content_.

"My letter's on there," Jim told her politely. "Thank you, Mrs Green." He flashed a toothy grin at his teacher before heading over to his desk, a skip in his step.

Mrs Green looked down at the PADD in her hands, and thought how precious this ridiculous slab of metal had so rapidly become.

But then she shook her head and tucked the PADD away into her desk drawer, making note to mail it first break.

James T. Kirk was happy for the first time in his short life. She wasn't about to mess that up by waiting.

***^.^***

Amanda paced back and force through the living room of her house, slowly but surely wearing a path into the carpet. The wait for the next letter from James Kirk was nearly killing her, and if it was killing her she didn't even want to begin to think how badly it must be affecting her son. Spock had been acting off for the last few days, more withdrawn, quieter than usual, and yet more jittery and emotionally obvious for it. It was clear to Amanda that Spock was angsting over what he'd written in return to the Human boy, James Kirk. She'd tried telling him he didn't have to but she'd have been better off talking to the wall for all the good it did anyone.

The front door slid open with a hiss as the AC struggled to keep the rush of boiling air outside.

"Spock?" Amanda switched the direction of her pacing so she was headed towards her son. He stood just inside the doorway, head hanging. "Spock, what's wrong?" But Amanda needn't have asked; the answer became clear the very second Spock lifted his sad brown eyes to meet hers.

His lip was bloodied green and his left eye was a mess of dark and mottled colours. Her son's peers had gotten to him again.

"Oh, Spock," Amanda said, reaching for her son. He flinched away from her probing hands, but let her ghost her fingers over his wounds. "Stay here, I'll bring the dermal regenerator." Amanda left only after Spock had given her a quiet nod. She knew he would keep his word, even his silent one, but if she didn't make him wait for her, he'd pretend like nothing was wrong. He'd broken his pinkie finger resisting his assailants a couple of months back, and it had taken Amanda almost an hour to realise he wasn't using the digit and was holding it at an awkward angle.

Spock, for his part, gazed unseeingly at his shoes as he waited for his mother to return with the dermal regenerator that would fix his face. The cuts and bruises were more than skin deep though, and no dermal regenerator would fix them. Again, Seron had told him what a freak he was and, again, Spock had done nothing to stop him when he pushed him over. He varied between verbal and physical stimulant but his end goal remained the same. To elicit an emotional response from Spock. It was too bad Seron didn't know that he always did, Spock just didn't show it.

Spock refused to give in to Seron or give up his pride as a Vulcan. Vulcan's were by practice stoic, unswerving in their belief that emotions did not have to dictate one's life. Spock was Vulcan.

He was half Human, but he was Vulcan too. And that was what mattered.

His mother returned and began fussing over his face but still Spock refused to show any emotion. His blank face and the hollow way he held himself were enough to make his mother hurry in her ministrations and Spock was upstairs in his bedroom, door soundly locked, in under ten minutes. Still he showed no emotion.

Spock placed his bag by the door and sat primly in his desk chair. He placed the PADD he'd kept safe in his hands this entire time on the table top and stared at it without any trace of emotion for all of three seconds.

The right-hand corner of Spock's mouth twitched upwards and he eagerly flicked the PADD on.

_Dear Spock,_

_It's wonderful you like writing me. It makes me really happy (you actually have no idea just how happy (clue: it's a lot)) that you do. I'm glad you don't mind my age being so much less than the others. I like that you're a few years older than me. Vulcans live longer than Humans right? So if you're older than me that means we get more time together!_

_I'm sorry that I can't pronounce your family name. Human vocal cords are kind of sucky, huh? Maybe you could help me try? I'd like to learn. I'd try on my own, but your alphabet is kinda, well, difficult._

_So you're Mom's from Canada? That's really great you know. Maybe one day you could convince her to take you to meet your relatives and then I could come up and meet you in person! It would be nice to talk face-to-face. But no matter. I like writing to you anyway._

_Your Dad's Ambassador to Earth? Wow. Does that mean you want to be an Ambassador when you grow up? I don't know what I want to be. Every boy dreams of being in Starfleet, or so I'm told. But I don't know if I want to. Starfleet just brings up bad feelings for me. Dying alone in the coldness of space is a bit scary. I mean, I do like the idea of flying around in space, seeking out new life and new civilisations. Hey, that's kind of catchy._

_About the _Kelvin_… Yes, I was born on a medical shuttlecraft as it fled the destruction of the _Kelvin_. I was born prematurely and exposed to all kinds of radiation. My doctor days that's probably why I'm allergic to so much stuff. I'm allergic to just about everything. You name it; I'll go into anaphylactic shock over it. Are you allergic to anything, Spock? Can Vulcans even be allergic to things? I heard this rumour that you guys are allergic to chocolate. That stinks, 'cause chocolate's very yummy._

_Your mother sounds really nice. I'd like to meet her. You first though. I have priorities. She does sound a bit like my Mrs Green. They'd probably really hit it off as friends. I think we have._

_The Orions you mentioned, Sooris, Peile and Gaila also sound very interesting but in a different way. It's a pity I can't meet them. Maybe if I did join Starfleet I'd meet them in the future. Do you meet many different species? Have you ever spoken to a Klingon? I hear they're not very good conversationalists so maybe you wouldn't want to._

_I'm going to tell Mrs Green you agree with my theory. She'll like that, I think._

_I really would like to learn more about Vulcan. Even if it takes a century._

_Do you mind if I take white? If not, King's Knight to H3._

_Thank you for wanting to be my friend,_

_James Kirk. (Call me Jim, 'kay?)_

_P.S. The five hundred thing doesn't matter anymore._

Spock blinked quietly at the PADD for a minute, Jim's words drifting before his eyes. Friends. Jim did want to be his friend. It was the first time anyone had ever expressed that want. And though it wasn't the first time Spock wanted to be someone's friend, it was the first time he'd felt like he'd do anything to keep a friendship alive (even though friendships were not living beings and therefore couldn't be kept alive).

His eyes stung. Spock rubbed at them with the backs of his hands. They came away wet. He was crying.

Spock shook his head, trying to snap out of this feeling. He was happier than he could ever remember feeling; so happy to finally have a friend, yet he wept. As a half-Vulcan he could weep. It was another betrayal of his body, another way his emotions could slip through his grasp.

He wept for his friend… out of joy? This was ridiculous, and so embarrassing. He was Vulcan. Vulcan's did not cry. Regardless of the situation.

So why did he cry? And why did his heart ache in his side? He felt ill and warm and happy and sad and it _hurt_, but it seemed like a good thing. Spock didn't know how he knew this, he just did. He knew that even though his body was undergoing processes that usually indicated illness, he was better than ever.

It was awfully confusing but as Spock's eyes traced Jim's signature again, he felt a lightness settle over him. He felt that, despite the severe illogic of this situation, he wouldn't have to be alone again. He felt that he would be able to talk to Jim whenever he was troubled and he would listen. Spock would need to do his best in return. He wasn't very good with emotions (what Vulcan is?) but he could try. And he _would_ try, for his friend.

***^.^***

Jim dashed up the driveway to his house, hunched forward over his backpack. It was raining. Pouring might be more accurate actually. It was like the world had turned upside down and, as was inevitable, the ocean had lost the fight with gravity. Jim thought he would have been drier taking an old-fashioned bath.

He looked up as he entered the strip of yellow light that streamed through the thick curtains onto the dirt pathway. He could hear the television blaring inside, accompanied by the frequent guffaws of his Uncle Frank. He refused to think of him as a father figure, no matter what his legal status said. Jim hoped he wasn't drunk but the likelihood of that was slim to none. He'd be better off hoping for his real father to return. Which would be kind of hard for the poor guy, considering he was dead.

Jim sighed and scrubbed a hand though his wet hair. He stepped onto the porch and violently shook his head. Water sprayed everywhere but he felt a little drier afterwards.

He squatted down, biding his time before he entered the house. Sam was staying at a friend's place tonight so it was just Frank and Jim. Jim would never begrudge his brother his friends but he hated being alone with Frank. It gave the man more liberties than he already took in taking his negative emotions out on Jim.

His PADD lay inside his backpack, his next letter from Spock waiting patiently. Jim hugged his backpack to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut as he imagined Spock beside him, giving him the strength to go on.

"_You need not be afraid, James. I will be by your side, always."_

Jim bit his lower lip, fighting the overwhelming urge to collapse where he was and cry until he couldn't move. He didn't want Spock to see him that way. Spock believed in him. No matter what Frank said, it didn't matter because Spock was there.

Jim knew Spock wasn't really here with him, and if he cried now there would be no-one around to see, but he felt like he should be turning over a new leaf. He had a friend somewhere out there is the universe, sixteen light-years away, and Jim would need to start being stronger than before if he wanted to keep him.

Jim concentrated on his breathing for a few seconds, to calm his racing heart. He hated being here but what choice did he have? He could dream about someone – _Spock_, his mind whispered – coming to take him away from this terrible place, but they would always only be dreams. He would just have to deal with it like always.

He pulled the PADD out of his bag and blinked owlishly at its light. Jim opened the letter, a smile swiftly taking over his previously dejected features.

_Jim,_

_I am most grateful that you would consider us 'friends' after such a short time, however I must point out the illogic of your first move. Are not most winning strategies started with a pawn? I am interested in your reasoning behind this._

_I would be amenable to teaching you Vulcan. It would be exceedingly tiring on your part, however, so you must be prepared for this._

_My mother expressed most enthusiastically that she would 'love to meet you'._

_I have no intentions of becoming a politician. My interests are largely scientific._

_I have never met nor spoken to a Klingon._

_Pawn to C5._

_Spock._

_That's it?_ Jim frowned at the PADD, willing more words to appear. Was Spock tired of him already? It was possible, if his family was anything to judge by. Jim wasn't all that interesting, and was mostly considered an annoyance. But surely it should take longer for someone to realise that over letters.

Jim shook his head sharply. _Snap out of it, Kirk_. He scrubbed at his tired eyes, willing the salty tears back down. He was tired of being a nuisance. Maybe he should just stop.

Jim stood slowly, the PADD dropping onto the deck with a wooden crack. He grabbed his bag and quietly opened the front door. He walked, head down, past the living room where his Uncle was laughing at the TV, up the stairs, straight into his room. His bag-strap slipped from his weak grip near the doorway.

His shoulders shook with the force of his misery, and in the dark solitude of his bedroom, he just wanted to give in. Intellectually speaking, Jim knew he should take his Uncle's slurs with a pinch of salt, but the mind had never had much control over the heart and Jim's was bleeding.

Jim dropped to his knees and crawled under his bed, curling up in a tiny ball. Finally, tears flowed freely out of his eyes, fleeing the tired body. Jim dragged his sleeve across his messy face, sobbing tiredly.

He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep.

Jim closed his eyes and tried to ignore the painful clenching around his heart. In a few moments, he was sound asleep.

***^.^***

"Found you, ya little bugger!"

Jim started as a large hand closed around his upper right arm and dragged him out from under his bed. He gulped as he found himself looking into the red face of his Uncle.

Frank had been drinking. A lot. And Frank was a bad drunk. A very bad drunk.

"Uncle-!" Jim started to say but was cut off by the back of his Uncle's hand as it swiped across his face. It stung like hell and Jim felt tears prick his eyes.

This time he wouldn't cry. Frank loved it when he cried and he wasn't about to give him the pleasure.

"What's wrong, Jimmy?" Frank purred. "Don't you want to spend time with your Dad?"

Jim cringed, ducking his face away from Frank. "You're not my Dad," he whispered, spurred by a sudden need for rebellion.

Frank's grip tightened on his arm. Jim squeezed his eyes shut, afraid now, and regretting his words. He should just go along with Frank, he knew that, but he couldn't help but want to fight. He felt no-one should live under another's rule – even if that other were their Uncle/Stepfather.

"Oh?" Frank slurred. "You little bastard. You think you can say whatever you like, huh? Well, maybe I ain't gonna be your Dad no more. Ungrateful brat." He let go of Jim's arm and he landed painfully on the floor.

Frank glared down at Jim, his lips curled up in a sneer. "You know why I got to be your damn father, Jimmy? It's 'cause you killed your old man, that's why," he spat.

Jim flinched away. His hands were shaking as he pressed them against the floor and tried to stand. His knees wouldn't hold his weight though, and he wound up on his behind again.

He wanted to run away. He needed to get away from here, away from Frank, before he confirmed Jim's worst fears. Why his Mum was never around; why Frank drunk so much; why no-one liked him.

"Pathetic little Jimmy, always thinking his way's the best. It's not, you snot-nosed bastard, and you'll never amount to anything, just like your old man! George was so perfect, but you're anything but!" Frank snorted derisively. "You hear that, Jimmy? No-one'll ever love a stupid brat like you – not even your own mother!"

"No! Stop it!" Jim was shaking from head to toe. He couldn't take anymore.

Frank laughed a horrible laugh and smiled cruelly down at the little boy. "Worthless nobody."

With that, he left, leaving Jim shivering on the floor.

***^.^***

Spock yawned widely, his maths assignment fading in and out of focus. He hadn't slept for the past three days, so stressed out was he about the last letter he'd sent James Kirk.

It had started out well enough – Spock had said with unerring clarity just how happy he was to finally have a friend – but then he'd panicked and the rest had come out in a rush until he was left with the shortest, coldest letter he'd ever seen. But he couldn't figure out a way to write the letter better – Surak knows he tried; he had about twelve drafts by the end of it all – and in the end he'd just picked the least insensitive one he could.

That wasn't the only problem Spock had faced with his most recent letter – for a moment there he'd almost forgotten to continue the chess game.

Spock rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, feeling more miserable than ever. He'd probably just – what was the expression his mother once used? – screwed up his one friendship. Hopefully, six year old Humans were more forgiving than six year old Vulcans.

It was illogical to worry about something he couldn't change. There was nothing he could do and he needed to accept it, much like he needed to accept his place in this world.

Spock's head dropped to his desk with a thunk. He wasn't very good at accepting things he didn't want to. So much for being a man of logic.

Spock shook his head, his forehead rubbing against the cool metal of his desk. No! He was Vulcan! He was a being of pure logic and no emotion!

It was around then that Spock realised his current position was anything but logical, so he sat up jerkily and started scribbling answers onto his PADD.

_Calm yourself_, Spock ordered his frantic body firmly. _This is not reasonable. Jim will respond as he sees fit and-_

_Oh._ What if Jim didn't respond? The program said a minimum of four letters but James Kirk wasn't really part of the program and he could stop whenever he wanted to.

A cold weight seemed to settle itself uncomfortably in Spock's stomach. He pressed a hand against his stomach worriedly, but could feel no difference. Perhaps this was all in his mind, and it too was finally betraying him.

Spock breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, a relaxation technique his Mother had shown him. He for this three times and felt a little calmer for it. Of course, it didn't make any noticeable difference but Spock liked to pretend it worked. Just like he liked to pretend he felt nothing when Seron and his friends called him 'half-breed' or 'freak'.

Spock looked down at his maths answers and almost gaped at his terrible answers. He bent over it and hurriedly wiped them out. He made to start again but the symbols made no sense. He was very tired after all; maybe he would do better in the morning, after he'd gotten some rest.

If he could even sleep, that is.

***^.^***

James Kirk lay on his bed, staring blankly up at his ceiling. A couple years back, he'd thought it might be nice to put glow-in-the-dark star stickers on that ceiling, but no-one had wanted to help him and he'd been too small to do it himself. Not that that had stopped him from trying, falling off the step-ladder and dislocating his shoulder. It was almost as silly as that time Sam had told him he couldn't fly, therefore Jim had thought he could prove his brother wrong by jumping off the roof.

It was small, silly things like these – things any child should be allowed – that Jim missed. He'd never had them, as far as he could remember, but he figured he could miss them anyway.

He missed having a mother and father, and a happy family. He missed having any family. All Jim had was a mother who couldn't stand to look at him, a brother that ran off at every opportunity (though Jim couldn't blame him for that), and a caretaker who would gladly do nasty things to Jim if the laws against any sort of child abuse weren't so strong and downright thorough. All Frank could get away with was the occasional slap and bruised arm. Anything more and the robocops would have been on him like bees on honey.

Jim blinked and his train of thought slowed to a stop at the station labelled: SPOCK. He'd left the PADD outside, in the rain no less. How stupid was he? _Very_, Jim thought grumpily. _I wanna write to Spock._

He wanted to tell him about Frank, all he'd said, and be reassured that it wasn't true; that his mother really was just dedicated to her work and Frank was a nasty drunk. He wanted to have Spock tell him he didn't mind his differences, and treat him like he existed. He wanted… Well, Jim didn't really know how to say what he wanted. He supposed… he wanted love. From someone, anyone. Just to have someone acknowledge his existence would be so nice Jim felt his heart squeeze painfully at the mere prospect.

Jim badly wanted Spock to be that person, the first person to want him around.

Jim sighed quietly. Who was he kidding? No-one wanted him around; he'd even scared someone sixteen light-years apart away, just through writing!

_Jim, I am most grateful that you would consider us 'friends' after such a short time…_

The words rose unbidden in Jim's mind, and he quickly stifled a sob. _'Friends', yeah right…_

_Wait_. Jim reread the words in his mind's eye. Spock was… 'most grateful' that Jim consider them 'friends' after 'such a short time'. Jim swallowed thickly, but couldn't swallow down the relieved smile that gripped his face.

Spock hadn't rejected him! Jim had just overreacted! _Stupid_, he berated himself cheerily, all his worries and pain fading into the background.

Jim sat up abruptly and slapped his forehead with his open palm. "Idiot. Can't believe you left the PADD out in the rain…" he muttered to himself as he scrambled out of bed. He tiptoed to his door and pressed his ear against it, listening out for his Uncle. He didn't want another encounter like the one before, so he'd have to be super-careful.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated all his mind on listening. …And there it was! His Uncle's loud snores were coming from his bedroom down two doors from Jim's. He'd be able to make it down the stairs and out the front door, no problems.

And that is exactly what James Kirk did. Once outside he squatted down and gently picked up the wet PADD. He rubbed it dry on his shirt then turned it on, anxious to see Spock's words again.

_Pawn to C5?_ Jim laughed quietly. And Spock thought his move was weird.

***^.^***

Whew. So, 'pparently Frank's the hardest character ever to keep in-character, but I think I didn't mess the basic canon up too bad. Please review if you have the time, but thank you for reading regardless of your response.


	3. Chapter 3: Glowing in the Dark

Hey. 'nother chapter of AtU. The day after. Yeah… Please don't expect me to be all super-author all the time. I just publish the chapters when I finish them so there's no time estimates. Because if there were I'd probably miss them all the time then get depressed and quit. So I'm just gonna put these up when they're done, sorry.

Thank you everyone for reading. I have gotten a really scary number of reviews, not to mention favs and alerts – and even author alerts! It makes me smile a lot though, so it's all good.

About AtU… well, I fear that I'm getting repetitive but I kind of hope I'm not. This chapter's all PLOT and CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT and stuff so I would hope it's not getting too boring yet. Um, yeah… I will have to, at some point in the near future, have to start skipping letters and time periods because otherwise this would end me. Cause of death: RSI. But! I will have all the important letters and scenes and I swear there will be at least two letters a chapter until the time comes when the letters stop. Um, sorry, spoilers I guess… Well, considering the events of the movie will be exzachary the same in this story (just with different thought processes, you'll see) the letters have to stop sooner or later.

Anyways! Enough about all that, on to the story!

***^.^***

**Chapter Three: Glowing in the Dark**

***^.^***

Spock sat quietly on his customary bench, eating his lunch. A salad comprised almost entirely of Earth fruits, all ones Jim had talked about in his last letter. Spock nudged a green grape with his utensil and watched glumly as it rolled down the hill of apple slices.

Jim had, for some reason inconceivable to Spock, replied to his letter. Spock knew he'd been very abrupt, and was eternally grateful Jim had realised it was simply hard for him to express his feelings, even in written form.

_Especially in written form_, Spock corrected himself absently. This next letter to Jim was proving unusually difficult to write. He'd spent almost three whole days now in futile attempts to convey something of the burgeoning feelings he felt towards his little Human.

Spock shook his head minutely, conscious of the fact that he was in a garden at school and anyone could see him. He sighed mentally and skewered a grape with more force than necessary. Its juices splashed into his face and he flinched back, disgusted.

_Calm yourself_, he instructed himself firmly. _You are Vulcan. Vulcans do not mutilate their food._

…Well, Spock did at least. Most of his lunch remained uneaten and yet was fairly perforated with holes from his fork. This was getting ridiculous, and Spock knew it. He just didn't know how to stop it. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

He liked having Jim. Certainly, he was sixteen light years away and three years younger than Spock and _Human_ but he wanted to be Spock's friend and Spock… wanted very much to be his.

Spock wiped the grape juice off his face with his sleeve. He did enjoy sampling the foods Jim had suggested, though he remained uncertain why the little Human had done so. Perhaps all Humans shared his mother's trait of 'subject changing', though Spock remained unknowing of what subject Jim wished to get away from.

_Dear Spock_, he'd written.

_I've been talking to Mrs Green about Vulcans and she started musing about what could make an entire species of omnivores turn vegetarian over night. I told her it was because of your respect for all life. I don't think she really believed me though._

_I'm trying to be a vegetarian but it's really hard. Really, _really_ hard. Frank – uh, my Uncle – usually gets traditionally stereotypical American cuisine. So it's even harder because of that._

_(Sam thinks I'm crazy, by the way. He keeps telling me to make friends here, on Earth, but no-one around here's as interesting as you, Spock.)_

_The fruits I love most would have to be Cripps Pink apples, white table grapes, oranges and mango. Mango's really messy though, and it takes forever to clean up after eating it._

_What foods do you like, Spock? I like lots of food (though I can't eat half the things I'd like to 'cause of my allergies), and I think I'd like Vulcan food even though Mrs Green assures me it's all either super-spicy or "ridiculously bland". Her words, not mine._

_Anyway! How are you? (I can't believe I haven't asked this yet; I'm such an airhead sometimes!) I'm fine. The weather here's been pretty miserable lately. It's raining cats and dogs and storms kick up every other day. I can guess what kind of weather you're having – sunny? Warm with a chance of sweltering?_

_I'd love to meet your mother, Spock. She must be awesome if she's raised you. I have to say though; I'm a little insulted you think I can't learn Vulcan. I can do whatever I set my mind to, thank you very much. And my chess moves are entirely legit, but a good magician never reveals his secrets._

_Oh, and pawn to E3._

_Your friend,_

_Jim._

Spock was at a loss to understand almost half of the Earth idioms Jim had used, but his mother was proving to be a great help – when she wasn't grinning madly at him. Usually his mother was exceptional at concealing her emotions – she was a very special Human after all – but recently she had been expressing more vehemently than ever before. She seemed rather enthused by Jim's letters.

Spock was also quite enthused – Jim hadn't given up on him yet; how could Spock not… _feel_… so much? – but that didn't make it any easier for him to write these letters. Jim obviously put so much effort into his, and here Spock was, writing sentences less than twenty words in content that were blunt even by Vulcan standards.

Spock's gaze traced the fruits in his bowl, each an Earth fruit Jim had expressed love for. He was eating something he'd not considered to before, even with his Human heritage.

_All because Jim had expressed love for them._

It was then that Spock realised something he should have been conscious of from the first moment – he was no longer alone. Even if it was to be for too short a time, he had a friend. He had someone to talk to who wasn't biologically obliged to love him, but seemed to want to anyway.

The metal bowl groaned and Spock almost dropped it. His eyes refocused on it and his tips of his ears turned green upon seeing the distinct grooves his fingers had made.

Spock stared blankly at his bowl for an indeterminate time, feeling rather shocked at himself, until the bell rang, cheerily making Spock start.

Spock blushed harder at his lapse and hurriedly covered his food and put it away in his bag. He then took a moment to breathe deeply and compose himself before hurrying off to his advanced algebra class.

***^.^***

Mrs Green stood at the front of her classroom, patiently taking her class through the alphabet once more in preparation for their new project; a journal. Most of the children had their basics down-pat, the Standard alphabet and their first numbers. Some struggled still but she loved helping them.

Mrs Green was a very helpful lady, and she loved helping any-and-everyone. She was a little glad – even if she wouldn't admit it – to no longer be the only person trying to help little James Kirk.

She had yet to hear anything about little Jimmy's Vulcan pen-pal that wasn't positive, and from the way Jim talked about him – with such pride – she knew there was a friendship in the making. _And about time too_, she thought angrily. _Jim's a nice young boy and more people should love him_.

Currently, the boy in question was out of class. Home sick, if the drunken excuse for a guardian that had commed the school was to be believed. Mrs Green bit her lip to keep herself from showing her worry to the class. It wasn't hard to guess at what sort of 'parenting' Jim received.

"The. Quick. Brown. Fox. Jumps. Over. The. Lazy. Dog," Mrs Green enunciated, sounding as bright as the sun. "Okay, class. Now I want everyone to get out their journals – that's right, good," she encouraged as the children fumbled around under their desks for their newest PADD. "Today we are going to start our journals. Isn't that fun?" The was a loud murmur of various affirmatives. "I want you all to think of something that's happened to you recently – last weekend or even this morning – and write it down. Take your time, there's no rush. Okay, good, good," Mrs Green continued as she flitted around the classroom, helping whoever needed it. Once everyone was underway and no hands were raised, Mrs Green sat on the front of her desk, smiling warmly as she watched over her class.

***^.^***

Jim was lying on his bed, staring at his blank ceiling. He didn't see any point to anything at the moment. Frank had yelled a lot last night and Jim had earned himself a backhand for his smart-mouth responses. Frank had also shoved a chest of drawers or something equally heavy against Jim's door, because it refused to budge. Sam was out again, at school or at a friend's. His Mum was… around. She couldn't stand to look him in the eye, and he was a smart kid and he knew why but he so wished he didn't…

When was Spock going to write back?

Jim inhaled sharply and threw an arm across his eyes. How pathetic was he, that a slight delay in Spock's response made him feel like someone was carving out his heart? He was sad… and so alone… A shadow of someone great… a nobody that no-one would ever want… Spock wouldn't want him… He'd never write back…

The doorbell buzzing downstairs made Jim jump almost out of his skin. He clutched at his chest in surprise, his heartbeat and breathing accelerated.

He heard his Uncle grumble and curse as he got up to answer the door. When any normal person would be hung-over, Frank was still drunker than a wealthy pirate.

Jim strained his ears to hear who was at the door. Some small, ever hopeful part of him wished it was Spock. But that would never be.

"Yeah? Whaddaya want?" Frank's gruff voice carried easily, as did the forced brightness of the visitors.

"I've come to see James Kirk. I assume you are his guardian, Frank?" Jim would recognise that voice anywhere. But what was his teacher doing at his house? Sure, he hadn't turned up to school today but kids often missed a day here or there and Jim was sure he'd heard Frank call the school earlier and-

"That's Mr Kirk to you, lady. What do you want with Jimmy?" Frank's voice, the half-polite voice he used on strangers shining through the haze of alcohol.

"I am Jim's teacher, Ev'era Green. He was not present at school today so I-"

"I called that in, you know," Frank interrupted. Jim could imagine the scene downstairs; Frank towering, beer-belly straining against his shirt, staring down Mrs Green as Mrs Green crossed her arms the way she did when staring down one of her naughty kindergartners.

"I am aware of that fact, yes. However," Jim blinked in shock at the snarling quality his teacher's voice took on, "and I believe social services will agree with me, as you have not once offered any medical evidence that Jim has indeed been unwell and as this is not the first occasion whereupon he is away for a day then miraculously cured and returned to us the next, I might have to take it up with them. If I am given any reason to believe this is because harm has befallen him, I will see to it the money you should be spending on Jim but are clearly wasting in other _ventures_ is flushed down the drain, along with any rights to see this child."

Jim blinked, in shock at what he'd just heard. Pity he couldn't actually see Mrs Green tearing into Frank – that would've been quite a sight. She could be quite scary when she roused on you, Jim knew from all the times she'd torn the bullies at his school a new one.

"Look, lady," Frank said, beginning to sound pissed, "I don't have to listen to this. This is my house and he's my damn kid. If I say he stays home a day, then he does, got it?" The front door snapped shut. Jim curled his knees up to his chest, buried his face in his knees and waited for Frank. When frustrations could not be taken out on the adult population, Jim provided a convenient outlet.

Sure enough, there was a loud scrapping noise and then Jim's door swung open. Quite suddenly, Jim regretted forgetting to lock the door. It had been blocked from the outside and he'd _forgotten_…

"Whatavya been tellin' your teachers, Jimmy?" Frank snarled, striding over and grabbing a hunk of Jim's hair. He pulled back mercilessly hard and Jim cried out in pain. "_Well!_" Frank's breath was in his face, reeking of days of beer.

"Nothing!" Jim was ashamed to hear his voice come out in a squeak. "Nothing, I swear! Let go of me!"

Frank yanked his hair again and Jim cried aloud, his eyes stinging with tears. His hands clawed futilely at Frank's, trying desperately to free himself from his Uncle's mad grasp.

Frank shoved Jim's head forward for good measure before letting go. "Good boy, Jimmy. Don't go tellin' anyone 'bout this now," he ordered. Jim nodded miserably, holding his aching head in his hands.

He didn't look up when Frank left, nor when his door slammed shut. He just rocked back and forth where he sat, praying that it would all just end so he didn't have to hurt anymore.

This had been almost as bad as the time he'd told Winona about Frank's abuse. She'd told him to stop lying and left soon after, and Frank's wrath wasn't something Jim wanted to experience ever again. He'd gone almost three whole days without food or water before he'd dug his way out of the basement Frank had locked him in.

He had to remember to tell Mrs Green not to visit again, or if she absolutely had to, not to threaten Frank while she was there.

***^.^***

Spock swung his bag mildly as he walked home from school, his pace more leisurely than efficient. He'd finished his work in his Vulcan History class 3.8 times faster than the other children in his class and had spent his subsequent free time scribbling down everything he wanted to tell Jim. The letter was a mess, with absolutely no structure, but Spock had to try something. It seemed to Spock an adequate response to Jim's continuing attempts at friendship and so Spock was feeling quite pleased with himself (he could always clean it up at home, naturally). Of course, the expression on his features remained equivalent to that of a polished rock's because he was very much in control – but underneath his Vulcan upbringing Spock's hidden half was dancing in joy.

"Spock!"

…Not for much longer, apparently. Spock stopped walking, waiting with perfect Vulcan calm for Stonn to approach him. This event simply lent more evidence to Spock's theory of how his Human side must be crushed, for it would never allow him any peace. Any time it crept towards the surface, the world would somehow know and crush it down.

"Spock," Stonn repeated, coming to stand in front of Spock. He appeared to be mildly out of breath and was without his friends at this time. Stonn was a friend of Seron's, though he remained silent throughout most of their attempts to elicit an emotional response from Spock.

"Yes?" Spock queried when Stonn did nothing but stare at him.

Stonn stiffened and crossed his arms in front of his chest in an obvious show of superiority. "I wish to speak with you about T'Pring."

Spock sighed mentally. _This, again?_ "Surely you are aware by now, Stonn, that the lady T'Pring and myself are bonded and that this was decided by our parents as the best option for all involved parties."

Stonn's upper lip lifted in a half-snarl. "You have a say in this, Spock, do not pretend otherwise. You can dissolve your bond with T'Pring at your convenience. You simply do not wish to because you enjoy the pain it causes me," Stonn spat accusingly.

Spock lifted an eyebrow at his peers comment. He had been unaware that Stonn felt this way about T'Pring. The idea of love remained something of a foreign concept to Spock but he did understand the clear logic presented by mental compatibility. He was very much aware of Stonn's appropriateness for T'Pring, and hers for him. Spock had never wanted to be bonded to T'Pring in the first place – and he had a fair chance of escaping the _Pon Farr_ the rest of his kind would inevitably endure – but his Father had been insistent in his logic of preparation for the worst and Spock did not want to disappoint his family.

He was sorry for Stonn but saw no alternative. Now, if only Stonn would see that too…

"My apologies, Stonn. I do not enjoy any pain I may cause you but there is no alternative. _Kaiidth_, Stonn." Spock stepped around his fellow Vulcan, the conversation having reached its logical conclusion. Stonn would have to understand that Spock could not alter his reality any more than he could change his own genetic makeup.

Unfortunately, Stonn was not in agreement with Spock's assessment of the situation, as demonstrated by the iron strength with which he grabbed Spock's upper arm. He spun Spock around to face him.

"No, Spock. I will have T'Pring, this I swear. Thou shalt not have what is mine." This was the closest Standard translation of the Ancient Vulcan Stonn ground out. He was almost beside himself with fury, but Spock eyed him down coolly.

"If your claim is as strong as you have expressed, she will choose you. Stonn, understand this; I wish no quarrel between us." Spock hesitated briefly before continuing. He must say what needed to be said, yet he hoped Stonn would not hold it against him. Illogical, if the reactions of past Vulcans to Spock's every word were to be believed as the basis for all beings reactions to him. "If T'Pring returns your… want –" Saying 'feelings' might have been pushing it a little too far. "– than it should be she who requests a severing of our bond so she may be tied to you. I would have you take this under consideration before you confront me with such matters in the future."

With that said, Spock calculatingly tugged his arm from Stonn's slackened grip and returned to walking home.

***^.^***

Jim sat on the front porch of the Kirk residence, chin in hands, elbows on knees, as he waited for his brother to return. Frank was out doing god-knows-what, so Jim had commed his brother upon returning home to an empty house, partly to tell him he could come home early, partly to make sure he was safe.

Sam had smiled at Jim apologetically but said he'd be home in a couple of hours, and so here Jim was, a couple of hours later, waiting for his brother. He never spent much time with Sam anymore – he was almost always off at a friend's whenever Frank was home – and was looking forward to these few hours.

Jim watched the clouds drift by lazily overhead, and wondered if there were clouds on Vulcan. He supposed there had to be, though there wouldn't be many because it was a desert planet, after all. He'd have to ask Spock about it. If Spock ever wrote back, that is.

Jim knew he shouldn't worry – they couldn't possibly hope to keep up their crazy pace all the time – but he was still getting used to the idea of having a friend and he didn't want to lose this before he truly had it.

Jim sighed through his nose, and rubbed his tired blue eyes. He wished he had a friend who could be here with him in the physical world; he wished even harder still that Spock could become that friend. Jim knew Vulcans were anything but touchy-feely, but no-one around him was and he didn't expect hugs or anything like that really. Jim didn't expect much of anything from anyone. He was a good student, and he followed orders, and all he could reasonably hope for was some acknowledgement outside of his father's shadow. A friend was pushing it a little.

"Jim!"

Jim nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden sound. He looked up from the ground, half afraid Frank was home already, and almost sighed with relief when he saw his teacher, Mrs Green, striding up the driveway.

"Mrs Green?" Jim called, getting to his feet. He hopped down the porch stairs and jogged out to meet his teacher. "Mrs Green, what are you doing here?" He smiled at her, deciding this was a happy surprise. He liked his teacher, after all.

Mrs Green smiled back at him, seeming relieved he was outside. Jim reasoned she probably didn't want to meet Frank again, but then nobody did.

"Here." She shoved a parcel into Jim's arms. It was wrapped in soft material, similar to silk. Jim felt a hard edge inside it and his heart lit up.

"The PADD?" he asked hopefully, already undoing the tight knots used to hold the package shut.

Mrs Green nodded affirmative even as the PADD dropped into Jim's hands, along with a two thin plastic sheets. Jim's brow furrowed in confusion as he held up one of the plastic sheets. It caught the sunlight and reflected it into Jim's eyes, causing him to look away.

"This is from Spock, right?" Jim asked wearily. But then, who else would send him anything? His mother never did.

Mrs Green nodded again. "Looks like you've made a good friend, Jim," she told the youngest Kirk warmly, and ruffled his hair affectionately. "I have to go now, but promise me you'll explain those –" she gestured to the plastic sheets, "– when you get to school tomorrow."

Jim nodded, eyes glued to the PADD and the sheets. Mrs Green smiled at Jim, happy for him, before turning around and walking back down the long dirt driveway.

Once his teacher was gone, Jim hurried back to the front porch, where he put down the plastic sheets and the silky material. He sat down next to them and flicked on the PADD eagerly.

_Jim_, it read.

_I apologise most profusely for the abrupt state of my previous letter. I am unaccustomed to having a friend with whom I may speak freely. Once again, my apologies if I seemed at all rude. I am most gratified by your response, Jim, more so given the circumstances under which you wrote it. I thank you, for realising that I do, indeed, want to be your friend and that I am, as I previously stated, unaccustomed to this._

_I have been discussing Humans and Earth culture with my mother. She has been quite helpful in explaining to me some of the Earth phrases you used in your latest letter. In response to your query, I am adequate. It is indeed sunny and warm here, as you hypothesised. I wonder about your weather, having never seen such a phenomena for myself. Mother refused to explain to me the Earth idiom – as I can only assume it is – of 'raining cats and dogs' though perhaps this can be attributed more to her fits of laughter than a dislike of answering my questions. I feel I must also point out, Jim, that fine has many definitions and is therefore not an accurate way to describe ones wellbeing. I shall therefore ask you how you are doing, as this lack of detail has left me somewhat curious as to your current state of being._

_You may tell your Mrs Green that we Vulcans are omnivorous by nature, and are vegetarians by choice. Though some small factions still eat meat, they are by no means the scale to which you may judge us by. There are also some Vulcans who take their respect for sentient life to such extremes that they stage attacks on establishments that sell animal flesh. They are also not something to judge Vulcans by. As a species, our respect for life is great, but we know our realistic boundaries and will, should extreme circumstances dictate it, consume meat._

_I appreciate your desire to become vegetarian, though I must recommend against it at this point in your life. As a growing Human you need to consume enough protein to ensure healthy development, something a vegetarian diet cannot assure. Perhaps when you are older, you may try again._

_I have taken the liberty of sampling the Earth fruits you mentioned having a certain fondness for. I have discovered that I have a certain preference for the apple you wrote about, Cripps Pink. It has a very distinctive flavour that is suitable for my Vulcan palate. The mango, in particular, proved too sweet for my liking. There are few Vulcan foods that are naturally sweet in flavouring, and Vulcans do not have much tolerance for sweets. My father once became quiet ill after consuming 'pancakes with golden syrup' that my Mother made for him._

_I should add that I do not agree with your statement of mangoes being 'really messy', as my own experience with them has led me to believe it is you, Jim, who is 'really messy'._

_Your Mrs Green is somewhat accurate in her assessment of Vulcan cuisine. As Vulcans were primarily ocular and auditory hunters, our olfactory senses are severely underdeveloped. This has led to most of our food seeming naturally tasteless to other species, as we ourselves need to add copious amounts of spices in order to truly taste our food. I am more fortunate than other Vulcans, and have better olfactory senses. This allows me to sample foods that are not Vulcan in origin._

_The food I have highest preference for is _plomeek soup_. It is quite bland, as you say, in flavour until it has fermented for a day. It is then quite delicious, and it is also a highly nutritious meal. I also have a preference for _theris-masu_, a type of herbal Vulcan tea._

_I would point out that I never stated I considered your moves in chess to be illegal in nature and I fail to see the relevance of your being a magician to our chess game, Jim, but it is fascinating nonetheless. My mother managed to explain part of this expression to me, though I remain out of my depth with such matters. She was most pleased to hear your assessment of her, and has asked me to convey that she feels the same. "Jim must be as awesome to be your friend, Spock." This is precisely what she had to say on the matter, and I share in her statement._

_I should like to begin your lessons in Vulcan soon, as I believe the language will be easier to understand at an earlier age. I think basic vocabulary would be an appropriate place to start. For example: _stukh_ meaning outer-space, _yel_ meaning star and _kahs'khior'i_ meaning shooting star. In keeping with this method of instruction I have included two sets of what my mother calls 'glow-in-the-dark star stickers'._

_Pawn to H5._

_Your friend,_

_Spock._

***^.^***

The encounter with Stonn earlier that week had left Spock feeling drained. He required meditation and a quiet place away from his emotions to recover.

Spock did not enjoy conflict in any form. He understood the troubles Stonn had with him more than anyone else's, so perhaps his discussion with Stonn had been the lesser of two evils, as his Mother would say. Indeed, had Spock not spent nearly ten minutes talking with Stonn, he would have encountered his regular bullies a little way down the path (Spock had seen them from afar as he turned to walk up the hill to his house).

Sitting down on his meditation mat, Spock prepared to enter his own mind, in order to organise his thoughts and feelings. He knew full well that he should have attempted this sooner, but some part of him didn't want to examine anything brought up by Jim. However, avoidance was only a logical approach for so long, and if Spock wanted to maintain their blossoming friendship he would need a firmer control over his emotional half.

Having made his decision, Spock closed his eyes and dived into his mindscape.

_He was sitting under a large tree – possibly an oak or some other Earth form shown to him by his Mother. The sky above him was the pale blue of Vulcan, but the grass on which he sat was as green as in those old holovids of Earth. The air was warm, comfortable for Vulcan or Human living, and smelt vaguely of _theris-masu_, his favourite tea._

_The green fields around Spock extended as far as his eyes could see, before dropping off into the horizon. He relaxed from his mediative position against the tree trunk, tilting his head back to look up at the pale sky, clearer than crystal. _Nevasa_ shone brightly through the leaves above him, creating patterns of pale green light through the foliage._

_Truly, a beautiful place._

_Spock got to his feet slowly, brushed the leaves and the grass of his knees, and stretched despite the fact Vulcans did not need to, as they remained limber even after hours of meditation. But he was alone in his mind, and Spock could allow indulgences here._

_Taking his time, because here he had all the time in the world, Spock walked through the field, silently enjoying the ticklish grass against his bare feet. He enjoyed this part of his mindscape immensely; this one small part of him that instinctually accepted who and what he was. A hybrid, a perfect combination of the works of two worlds._

_As always, Spock eventually reached the drop. He looked down into the abyss, darker than a black hole, swallowing the sunlight that dared stretch into it. This part he secretly dreaded; diving into his emotions was never something Spock enjoyed. He could not anticipate what he might find down there, but he did not expect to find it at all agreeable._

_However, Spock knew it must be done, and so with one last lingering look at the sun hovering above his tree in the distance, he leapt._

_The fall seemed to take forever, but in an instant it was over and Spock was swallowed as the sunlight by his emotions._

_Stars glowed around him as he stood, suspended in space, each represented a lighted path, a doorway he might go through. Each was an emotional reaction, to an event or events that had mostly transpired recently, though some were too frightening and Spock had let them remain, undisturbed, for years in some cases. He would, eventually, study and categorise all of them but for now he had time only for the more relevant stars._

_Spock closed his eyes and listened, waiting for some sign as to which path he should proceed down. Quiet whispers, unintelligible but there and growing louder, echoed around the abyss._

"_Spock."_

_Spock started, shocked by the sudden increase in decibel level. His eyes flew open as he pivoted, trying to locate the source of the voice. It was a voice he had never heard before, of that he was certain. There was no way he would have blocked out a person so entirely he forgot them. It wasn't unheard of, but Spock could think of nothing he would wish to forget so badly he actually did. Forgetting was, after all, an entirely too Human response._

_The stars around him had dimmed, all except one, which the others seemed to shy away from. Spock's eyebrow lifted questioningly at the remaining light, a white dwarf amongst the much brighter, more captivating stars._

_It winked at him; there could be no other way to describe its action. Spock's brow furrowed as he studied it. He attempted to recall having ever seen this tiny star here before but could bring forth no memories of its presence. Yet it was an old star, shrunken with age, something an Elder Vulcan would have, not one as young as Spock._

Fascinating_, Spock thought._

_And then the star laughed at him. A tiny, tinkling laugh, not demeaning at all, and Spock's eyebrow quirked upwards in questions, which caused the star to laugh again. Fascinating, Spock thought again. That this ancient star could project itself so clearly was truly a fascinating and unexpected occurrence. Even the brightest stars could not project so well._

_Spock stepped towards it, his feet pressing against the vacuum of space as though it was a path, invisible to the eye but there all the same. In the same moment, the star jumped backwards. Spock frowned. His own mind had never attempted retreat from him before. Again he stepped forward, and again the star moved away. Spock tilted his head to the side, sizing up the evasive stellar object. It mimicked his motion, then brightened momentarily and zoomed off, away from Spock._

"_Wait!" he cried, reaching out for the star helplessly. The path gave out beneath his feet, and Spock was spiralling down, away from the star – but he needed to reach it; needed to know what it was. He stretched his fingers as far as they would go, as he fell down into the black. The star paused, now no more than a pinprick of light in the dark, and looked down at Spock as he looked up at it._

Spock_, it seemed to call, flickering sadly, and then Spock was gone, down into the blackness._

***^.^***

Jim and Sam lay next to each other on the former's bed, waiting for the sun to drop below the horizon. As the last rays of light slipped away and darkness fell, a new light appeared.

Jim turned his head to the side and grinned at his brother, feeling the happiest he could ever remember being. Sam smiled in return at his little brother, glad to see him smiling properly again. It seemed like years since Sam had seen him happy, and sadly it probably was.

He reached out an arm and wrapped it around his little brother's arms, pulling him into his side for a brotherly hug. Sam knew he should do this more often, but he had his own problems and taking care of a six-year-old wasn't one of them. But Jim was still his little brother, and Sam loved him very much. Even if Jim himself didn't know it, he did.

Jim snuggled into his big brother's side, his bright blue eyes glowing in the dark like the stars above them.

High above the two brothers, the stars shone.

***^.^***

Thank you again, everyone, for reading. It really means a lot to me. If anything makes the opposite of sense (I apologise again for my weird brain – at least the Eymorg wouldn't want it, phew) please just ask me. Hope you are (still) enjoying AtU.


	4. Chapter 4: A Paper Moon

Hi guys! So, I promised I'd have this out by this weekend and – lo and behold! – I did! Pretty amazing, right? Well, it was a close thing (it's my birthday and I now own more Star Trek than I know what to do with) but it's here.

I feel I should explain something. There's a bit of poetic licence in this story, in regards to the PADDs. It seems like they're being physically mailed across the space but they're technically not. Using the reasoning of people passing Kirk PADDs in TOS, I have decided that (yeah, the presents are all physically mailed unless otherwise specified) the actual letters are emailed (do they still call it that in the 23rd century?) but the PADDs are constantly handed to the schools/teachers for marking. It is an assignment. But after the four letter assignment boundary, there will be other ways for the boys to remain in contact.

Oh, uh, sorry if the times seem at all squishy (as a Southern Hemisphere gal, it's sometimes hard to remember NH school times). And this one goes out to Katherine, without whom this chapter would probably have taken another week to write. I guess the moral is; reviews make me feel guilty for not uploading. So, using that logic, feel free to guilt me if you have the time but otherwise alert or fav if you liked it? Unless you have a super-memory and can just go back to stories you've read without ever alerting or faving… (My memory kinda sucks, so I fav everything I like.)

Enough A/N. Onto the chapter…

**Chapter Four: A Paper Moon**

***^.^***

Jim hissed feebly and stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth. It was official; he sucked at origami.

For the upcoming Terran holiday of Christmas, Mrs Green had her class making origami figures. Most of the kids had the basics down (read: were happily throwing paper planes at each other) but Jim couldn't for the life of him seem to get the paper to obey. His desk was steadily being swallowed under a multi-coloured mountain of torn paper. Of course, it wasn't real paper – like in those old books Jim loved so much – but replicated paper, made from reformed atoms and molecules.

Jim had at least five paper cuts – not including the latest one – and not so much as a plane to show for it, let alone the little Santa's and elves some of the other children had succeeded in making. Currently, he was just trying to make the virtually flightless planes the rest of his class seemed able to do in their sleep. It wasn't that he wasn't creative – he was, indeed, extremely inventive in all his work – he simply had no experience with this sort of thing.

Mrs Green was finishing showing a girl a few seats across from Jim how to fold a crane when she noticed his plight. She stood soon after and made her way over to Jim.

"Do you need help, Jim?" she asked, despite the obvious answer.

Jim nodded miserably, his finger still in his mouth. Paper cuts _hurt_.

Mrs Green carefully brushed the ruined paper to one side, before getting out a brand new sheet of sky blue paper. "Here," she offered kindly. "I'll show you how to make a plane."

One demonstration and five folds later, Jim was looking at his first successfully made paper artwork.

"Thank you, Ms," he said, staring in awe at his plane.

Mrs Green chuckled and ruffled Jim's hair lightly. "Anytime, Jim." She made to stand and move away to help other students, when a tiny hand gripped onto her shirt sleeve. She looked down at Jim in surprise; he'd never been this bold before.

"Ms…" He sounded choked. He swallowed and began again. "Mrs Green, would you mind helping me, um…" he trailed off. Jim shook his head to clear it, squeezed his eyes shut and blurted out, "_?_"

Mrs Green blinked, nonplussed. "Excuse me?" she asked, having not understood the string of words Jim said without taking a breath.

Jim swallowed again and looked down at his desk, at the piles of now useless paper. He exhaled heavily and began again, forcing himself to speak slower this time. "Would you please… help me make something nice… for Spock?"

Mrs Green smiled at him. "Of course, Jim. Anything in mind?"

Jim started, somehow not having expected compliance. "Uh…" he said rather unhelpfully. He hadn't really thought this far ahead.

Mrs Green pulled up a spare chair and sat next to Jim, allowing him his time to think. She was a little surprised, but immeasurably happy, that Jim was friendly enough with Spock to exchange presents. He'd sent Jim those star stickers (boy, had Mrs Green been surprised when Jim told her about them the next day) and now Jim wanted to send something back. It was really quite sweet.

Jim fiddled with a loose thread on his jacket. What to make Spock? Hmm… He didn't know what sort of things his Vulcan liked outside of science… Well, science it was then. Just… what exactly?

Jim thought, long and hard, before he came up with something that he figured everyone had to like. Even his Vulcan.

"A… starship." Jim looked up at his teacher. "Like the one in the Shipyard. Can we do that?" A smile stretching her green features, Mrs Green tucked a brown lock of hair behind her ear and slid a silver piece of paper out of the few sheets Jim had left. She handed it to Jim and began instructing him on the appropriate way to make an origami starship.

***^.^***

Amanda hummed as she trimmed back a bush in her rose garden. Her humming soon turned to singing as she straightened to wipe sweat of her forehead.

"God rest you merry, Gentlemen; Let nothing you dismay; For Jesus Christ our Saviour; Was born upon this Day; To save poor souls from Satan's power; Which long time had gone astray-"

"Mother?"

Amanda stopped and turned around at the quiet, questioning voice of her dear son. He stood down the path, looking at her like she'd grown a second head. Amanda chuckled quietly.

"Sorry, Spock." She opened her arms, gesturing silently for him to come closer. He complied without much hesitance, though he continued to observe her strangely. "I was singing an old Christmas carol."

"Yes," Spock murmured, head tilting to the side. "If I recall correctly-" _Which you always do_, Amanda thought proudly. "-it was in 'A Christmas Carol' by Charles Dickens, was it not? …'God rest you merry, gentlemen'?"

Amanda nodded, quite proud Spock had remembered something so insignificant from an illogical Earth story she'd read to him when he was three.

"It is almost 'Christmas time' on Earth, is it not?" Spock had a contemplative look on his face. Amanda would have bet good money that he was thinking of his young Terran friend.

"Yes it is, Spock." Amanda handed Spock a pair of pruners which he wordlessly accepted. He knelt on the stone path next to his Mother and began trimming back those few stems that had dared reach out over the path. "The children on Earth will probably be preparing to celebrate it," she observed as casually as she could. "It's still a pretty big thing there, even if not everyone's Christian," she continued, answering Spock's question before he could do much as open his mouth.

In all honesty, Spock had forgotten it was almost the 25th of December on Earth. Only a week until Christmas, an occasion for the exchanging of gifts and well-wishes between friends and family, as his Mother had explained to him when he was very young. Despite having lived on Vulcan for many years now, Amanda still celebrated Christmas in her own small way. She would make or purchase small gifts – logical gifts of clothing or food or educational items such as books – and hand them out to everyone she cared about. Sarek had at least three knitted dark grey sweaters, each better than the last. Spock often received fictional books or collections of poetry in either Vulcan or Standard from his Mother, and he always gave her something in return, despite his father's insistence at the illogic of celebrating the birth of a Human from over two millennia ago.

With such a short time until the holiday was truly upon them, Spock most certainly _did not_ panic. He did, however, begin to wonder if he should send something to Jim. He thought he probably should – it wouldn't be a hassle and his Mother could always assist him in selecting something – but he wasn't sure Jim would want to send him something. And if Spock sent a present when Jim was not, Jim would feel the need to reciprocate and would go out of his way to do so. Spock did not want his Human to go to any trouble, and feared inadvertently putting such pressure on the young boy, because anything might scare him off. Spock remained insecure in regards to their friendship; it would take him some time to get used to having a friend, after all. Then again, what if Jim was planning on sending Spock something, and he did, and Spock had nothing to send in return?

He sighed, dispirited. Having a friend was proving to be hard work.

Amanda cast a sideways glance at her son, who'd stopped pruning and was staring blankly at the rose in front of him. Something was troubling him, and Amanda had a good guess as to what.

As with all Vulcans, Amanda broached the subject in a logical manner – as roundabout as possible.

"I was thinking of making a traditional meal for Christmas, this year," Amanda mused, clipping off a rose. She held up the cherry red blossom, the sunlight diffusing pink across the skin of her palm. She smiled softly. "I'll have to contact your grandparents," she said to Spock, as an afterthought. "I'm not sure I remember all the recipes correctly. They'd love to talk to you, Spock, if you don't mind."

Spock was looking sideways at his Mother. He averted his gaze back to the plant seated in front of him, thinking in his quiet way.

"I would not be averse to conversing with Grandma and Grandpa, as it has been two point eight four years since our last verbal conversation." Spock spoke to the rosebush, turning Amanda's expression soft with affection and motherly love. Despite his claims of not having emotions, Amanda knew her son loved his family dearly – it was moments like these, telling, that let her know her husband and son truly did – and he had enjoyed talking to his Grandpa about maths when he was younger. It would be nice to set up a video comm. for a change – as much as she loved her new one, Amanda did miss her old family on occasion – and perhaps this would help Spock with his problem.

Amanda held the flower out to Spock, who took it from her hand with great care. Holding the rose unnecessarily close to his face, Spock went almost cross-eyed looking at it. At length, his brown eyes – expressive and so human – switched their gentle gaze to Amanda and he lowered the flower.

"I…" Spock swallowed and looked down at the rose. "…will go place this in water," he finished, voice a little strained. Amanda watched silently as her son got to his feet and went back inside, the rose clutched tightly in his hands.

She sighed, going back to her gardening. Hopefully her earlier words could be of some help to Spock, because she was beginning to feel concerned.

Amanda found herself quite unable to forget over the next few days the interesting shade of green the tips of Spock's ears had been as he left.

***^.^***

Jim was outside on the porch, watching the ominously grey sky, wondering when it would just give up and start snowing. The air was chilled and Jim's breath froze in little icicles in front of his eyes, yet it refused to _just snow already_.

He rubbed his hands together, breathing on them to warm them up. He huddled further into his coat – a hand-me-down from his brother – and waited.

He was still there, watching and waiting, when his brother returned, scowling like nobody's business. Jim got to his feet straight away, asking what was the matter.

Sam directed a glare at the frosty ground as he sat down on the porch steps next to Jim. Jim plonked back down, looking over at his brother, blue eyes shining with concern. He hated seeing anyone distressed, especially his big brother, whom he loved to bits.

"Mom," Sam began, almost growling. Jim's brow furrowed as understanding dawned on him. Sam had fought with their Mom the last night she was home and, as far as Jim knew, they hadn't made up yet. "Mom… will be back in a couple of days. She'll be staying for a week before heading out again."

"Mom'll be back for Christmas," Jim breathed, in amazement. This would be their first Christmas together. He could hardly wait! He'd make something really nice for her and then she'd _have_ to notice him!

Jim grinned suddenly and latched onto his brother's side in a bear hug. They would have a real family Christmas; could anything be better? It'd be a real-life, Christmas miracle, like the ones in their old holovids.

Sam started a little at the abrupt, full-body contact but then he smiled into Jim's hair and wrapped his arms around his tiny shoulders, because no-one, not even Sam Kirk, could resist Jim's charm.

"Come on," Sam said after a moment had passed. "Let's go set up the tree."

The smile his little brother directed at him made all Sam's effort seem worthwhile.

The two brothers got to their feet and, Sam's arm still wrapped protectively around Jim's shoulders, headed inside. They made their way to the stairs that led to the basement, whereupon Jim disentangled himself from his brother and dashed downstairs.

Sam chuckled lightly at his brothers antics before following his steps at a much more reasonable pace. He didn't anticipate much this Christmas – it'd be much the same as any other, he figured – and he hated to see Jim's hopes grow only to be cut down later as he was sure they would be. Sam was ten; only ten and quite jaded with life on the Kirk farm. It was clear to him that no-one could be a Kirk under this roof, but it was not yet clear to his little brother and Sam didn't want to be the one to tell him. Jim was a smart boy; he'd figure it out himself, eventually.

For now, they could put up the tree and enjoy the time they had.

***^.^***

Jim peered around the dark of the basement, eyes adjusting to the dark. Back when Frank was less of a drunken stepfather and more of a loser uncle, he used to come down to the basement to get hammered (because, before he'd married Winona, he used to be slightly civilised), and one time he'd broken the light (read: torn the wiring from the walls in drunken rage). He hadn't bothered to fix it since, seeing as he'd moved upstairs into the living room, and neither Sam nor Jim had the skills or knowledge necessary to fix it themselves. So the light filtering in through the small, ground-level window would have to do.

Jim grinned as he finally spotted the tree tucked into the back left corner and made a beeline straight for it. Theirs was an old, plastic tree. It'd been in the Kirk family for years, and was moulting worse than their Grandpa Tiberius, but Jim loved it.

"I found it, Sam!" Jim called back to his brother. He grabbed the long white box the faux-tree rested in and began dragging it backwards towards the stairs. Jim had only taken a few steps when his brother appeared in his line of view. Sam grabbed the other end and their combined efforts managed to lift it a foot or so off the ground. They carried up the stairs and into the late George Kirk's study.

They set up the tree in a corner, the same one as every year, and as Sam rested against the wall (he'd taken most of the weight himself – not that he'd ever tell Jim that; his little brother hated being babied) Jim hurried back to the basement and sought out their box of decorations. He found it sitting on a shelf, a good metre out of his reach.

Jim glanced around the basement, looking for something to stand on. He spied a truly ancient, wooden stool across the room and grinned. Perfect. Jim hurried over to it, carefully avoiding the edges of the boxes the cluttered the floor. No-one came down here much anymore, so everyone just dumped their mess down in the basement. Out of sight, out of mind.

Jim hissed as his knee collided painfully with a box. So, not quite out of mind.

He hopped around on one foot for a minute, holding his sore knee up to his chest.

"Come on, Kirk," Jim muttered to himself, putting his foot down tenderly. He winced as he put pressure on his leg; he'd have a nice bruise later. Jim's eyes lighted on the stool again, and he stifled the pain. He continued over, hobbling slightly this time, and when he made it he let out a whoop of delight.

Jim grabbed the stool and held it over his head as he shuffled back to the decorations box.

He set the stool down and clambered onto it. Jim stood shakily, eyeing his prize with a fierce determination. He reached out his hands, not caring for his balance at all, and latched onto the bottom of the box. He spared a moment for a victorious smile before he tugged the box towards him. It tipped forward off the shelf with more force than Jim had anticipated and took him with it as it crashed to the floor.

Jim sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head where it had connected with the ground. His eyes were watery from the pain but he managed to focus and find the box. Its contents had spilled out onto the floor but the great majority were intact.

"Phew," Jim said to himself. "Ouch." He rubbed his head grumpily. Stupid gravity.

Once his head stopped hurting quite so much, Jim got his feet and collected the decorations. He herded them back into their box, hefted said box in his arms and stumbled towards the stairs. He could barely see over the box, and it was killing his depth perception. Twice up the stairs he tripped and almost went tumbling back down, but his luck held out and he was still alive when he finally got the decorations upstairs.

Jim collapsed forwards, tired from his efforts. The hardwood floors were strangely comfortable today…

"Jim?" Jim looked up only to see his brother looking down at him, consternated. "You okay?" Sam pushed the box to the side and squatted next to his brother's body. He looked from Jim to the box and back again, understanding dawning on his features. "You shouldn't do that," he told Jim, shaking his head. "I could've gotten it; you didn't have to."

"I know." Jim mustered up a smile and pushed himself up until he was sitting. He rubbed at his eyes, suddenly quite sleepy. "I'm sleepy, Sam," Jim told his brother promptly. "Can we put the decorations on later?"

Sam sighed, but helped his brother to his feet. "Sure, Jim," he said, agreeably. "Just go rest, okay?" Jim nodded and, swaying slightly, wandered up the stairs to his room. Sam shook his head again, before picking up the box and going to place it in the study.

***^.^***

Sarek looked up from his work at the sound of the entry buzzer from his study door. "Come," he called, eyes going back to their previous work.

"Father."

Sarek did not look up this time; he turned a plastic sheet of work and waited for his son to inform him of his reason for being here.

Spock stood just this side of the doorway, trying his very Vulcan best not to fidget. He could imagine his father's reaction to the request he'd come to ask, and it wasn't pleasant. But Spock had to ask; he had an effort to make now.

"Father, I am going to be speaking to Jim over video comm. It may well become a regular activity," Spock informed his father in a quiet voice. The silent question of 'is that all right with you?' made Sarek finally look up from his work. His dark brown eyes observed his son for a moment – taking in his straight posture, blank face, and the determined glint in his eyes – before he inclined his head.

"I am sure your mother would like to speak to James as well," Sarek commented dryly, turning another sheet.

Spock started then relaxed almost visibly. "Indeed," he agreed, quietly, and turned to leave. He could barely believe that his Father was being so agreeable; Spock had been under the impression Sarek would not want such Human influence on his son.

"Spock." Spock stiffened, not turning. Of course it was, as his Mother would say, too good to be true. "You will give James my regards." Spock looked back over his shoulder at his Father in surprise. He recovered swiftly, composing himself.

He inclined his head. "Of course, Father." Spock left then, before anything else could be said to shake his world. _Father wants me to give Jim his regards?_ Spock mused as the door slid shut behind him. _How odd_.

What Spock was unaware of, was that his Father was happy that he had a friend. Certainly Sarek did not want another Human influence on his son – after all, he and Amanda had agreed to raise Spock as a Vulcan – but, as his beloved wife had told him, Spock was both Human and Vulcan, and no matter which culture he was being raised in, he would need a friend on occasion. Certainly, a pen-pal was the best solution; it would mean that should Spock's friendship with James Kirk begin to affect his chances of a good life on Vulcan, it could be dissolved easier than a physical relation.

***^.^***

Spock lay on his back, eyes flickering in his sleep. He was deep in REM sleep when a loud sound of glass shattering startled him from his rest. Spock sat up straight in bed, looking around his room to locate the source of the noise. His bedroom window lay in shards on the floor, leaving his room open to the cold night.

There was nothing to indicate what might have caused the damage, and Spock was lost as to what this might have been. While it was possible Seron had taken to vandalising his family's property, it was far from likely. Outside of that, Spock had no clue as to what this was.

Careful not to step on any glass, Spock got to his feet and padded to the window. He firstly checked the grounds below – which were clear of anything that might have caused his window to shatter – then turned his gaze skywards. The familiar layout of stars shone high above, Vulcan's sister planets bright in the sky. There was nothing odd there either.

Bemused, Spock turned back to his room, intending to clean up the glass before returning to his rest. If he were Human he might have yelped at the sight the greeted him, if he were Human.

As it was, Spock simply blinked a few times, as though the person on his bed might go away if he willed it enough.

The intruder was a humanoid male, approximately age twelve in Terran years. He had dark blond hair, round features, and warm hazel eyes. He had one hand resting on the rustled bed-sheets where Spock had been lying not a minute ago. The boy was staring at the place his hand rested, a strange look on his face. It was what Spock might call a 'sad smile', a purely Human and illogical emotional response for smiling was supposed to indicate the presence of positive emotions. But this boy most definitely had the saddest demeanour Spock had ever seen, and yet he was smiling.

"Illogical," Spock murmured to himself, voice pitched so low a normal humanoid should not have been able to hear it. Yet this one did, and he turned his sad gaze on Spock.

His hazel eyes lit up – though eyes physically cannot produce light – when he looked at Spock.

"Spock," he breathed, voice equally quiet.

Spock's breath caught in his throat, eyes widening as the boy got to his feet and ghosted over to him. He reached out his tan hands and caught Spock's shoulders in a friendly grip.

"Spock," he said again, wonderingly. "Spock." His voice broke, tears leaking out of his eyes, and he pulled Spock forward quite abruptly. Spock landed against his warm chest, as the boys arms encircled him, pressing him closer and closer still. "Spock," the boy said again, his warm breath teasing the hair on Spock's head. The boy leaned his face down into that same hair, breathing in deeply.

Spock was frozen in his grip, his train of thought having derailed in a fiery crash a ways back. Before his mind could properly reboot; before any of this could truly register, Spock felt himself fist his hands in the front of the boy's striped shirt. He nuzzled his face into the warm chest, hearing the strong heartbeat quicken as it powered the stranger's body.

"Spock," the boy choked out again. He couldn't seem to stop saying Spock's name, and Spock couldn't seem to pull away.

The boy lifted one hand from Spock's back and reached it between them, capturing one of Spock's hands in his own. The boy was so warm, like a dream, and Spock was losing himself in it. In _him_.

The boy lifted Spock's hand until it rested against the meld points of his face. Any attempts at regaining control Spock had been making went out the window right then and there. It was so tempting to dive into this boy's thoughts – they would be as a warm blanket, wrapping around Spock, keeping him safe in these arms – _so tempting_…

And Spock almost did it; he almost gave in, lost all control. But at the last moment, he pulled away. All the warm feelings faded as Spock stepped back, away from this boy – this stranger.

Was he a stranger? He felt so familiar to Spock's mind.

"Spock?" The boy sounded confused, and hurt, and he was looking at Spock with a little furrow of confusion between his eyebrows and Spock wanted to smooth it out…

_No_. Control.

"Who are you?" Spock said, breathless. _When did that happened_? he wondered. His heartbeat was also elevated, as was his temperature. He touched his cheeks, warmer than usual, and realised – to his great embarrassment – that he was _blushing_.

The boy took a careful step towards Spock. "Spock. Don't you remember me?" These were the first words the boy had uttered other than his name, and Spock felt disappointed in himself for not remembering this boy. He was causing him undue distress… if only he could _remember_…

"I know you… Do I not?" Spock tilted his head to the side, trying to place the familiarity this boy offered.

The boy looked encouraged. "Yes. And I know you."

Spock blinked, eyebrows drawing together as he racked his brain for something… _anything_…

"I have been… and always shall be… your friend." Spock pressed and hand against his mouth. He'd spoken without thinking about what he was saying first. In fact, he had no idea where those words had come from. But they'd been pulled from him as if by some undeniable, magnetic force.

The boy stepped forward, closing in on Spock. He seemed hushed, his expression encouraging, as he waited for Spock to remember.

"Yes," the boy murmured. "Yes, Spock…"

If this boy was his friend as Spock himself had said, and as Spock had only one friend to speak of…

"…Jim…" he murmured. "Your name is Jim."

Tears welled up fresh in the boy's eyes. He nodded his head. "…Yes."

Their eyes locked together, and the boy took the final step forward, re-entering Spock's personal space as though he had permission – and didn't he? Hadn't he _always…?_

Jim's hands closed around Spock's upper arms, and Spock felt his heart lurch in anticipation of feeling that comforting warmth again, but Jim did not close the space between them. He restrained himself, the effort visible, and waited. Waited for Spock to take the next step, as he always did…

Spock leaned forward, arms reaching out, all semblance of control gone… and he was falling into Jim's arms…

***^.^***

The distinct sensation of falling lodged in his gut woke Spock up. He blinked groggily at the ceiling, his mind catching up to him slowly. He had been… dreaming, quite obviously.

Spock pressed a hand against his forehead, feeling feverish. He must be ill. That must be it.

Spock's hand went limp against his forehead, sliding down to cover his eyes.

He breathed out, deeply, calming his racing heartbeat. It was only a dream.

***^.^***

Heh heh. Please don't kill me? Sorry if this seems at all cut-off-y, but it seemed a reasonable stopping point. Eh *cough*. Anyhow, thank you for reading.


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